River of Blood
by AngelOfGeeks
Summary: The life of an ordinary healer in an extraordinary place, where bashed in skulls and slit throats are daily happenings. When a new combatant joins the Arena, however, she'll find that her job has just gotten a lot more difficult.
1. Grit

Rain poured down onto the bloodied soil while thunder crashed ahead. The weather was terrible as Rain's Hand reached it's peak, making it nearly impossible to go anywhere without getting water dumped onto you. Flashes of lightning lit the sky while the thunder rumbled on, as if an army on horseback was riding above. The pit below was silent. Nothing made a sound.

A male Altmer stood behind a heavy iron gate, waiting for the signal to run forward. Across from him, several meters away, was a female orc carrying a war hammer as big as a Bosmer. Gulping, he readied his magic. _You can do this. You didn't get to gladiator rank for nothing. Relax._ This, however, barely reassured him. At least the Orc across from him looked equally, if not more, nervous than he was.

There was a loud, grinding noise as the rusted iron gates lowered. There was silence for half a moment as the two stared at each other. The Altmer became very aware of the fact that he was breathing, the feeling of the air expanding in his lungs, the warmth in his fingertips. Suddenly he started to think that this was a very, very bad idea...

A war cry broke the silence as the Orc charged forward, the giant glass war hammer she carried clutched tightly in her hands, it's surface reflecting the lighting above. He only had an elven dagger, and this caused him to run sideways, strafing around her while sending forth a large fireball, unaffected by the pouring rain.

But the orc dodged, her amber eyes narrowing as she closed in. He sent a ball of frost at her this time, and it made contact. She froze, ice crawling all over her green skin, piercing it, making small cuts that stung and bled. But it didn't slow her down when she regained the ability to run.

She was so much faster than he, years of hard training making it easy for her to close the distance he created. Desperately throwing whatever spells he could at her, paralyzing spells, fire spells, electricity spells, _anything_ to kill her before she killed him. Yet she dodged, and he used an invisibility spell to buy himself some time.

Running behind her as she looking wildly around to find him, he fired off a stream of lighting, making himself visible again in the process. The orc fell to the ground, twitching wildly, but still holding onto her war hammer. The elf took this as a chance to do some real damage, and he ran forward, slashing at her with his dagger. A gash on the arm, a cut across the cheek, and a stab to the stomach. Then the spell faded, and the orc got up, bloody, but in a raged frenzy.

He tried to run as she charged forward like an angry bull, but the sandy soil was slippery, and he fell. Thud, thud, thud went the orc's footsteps, as fear racked the elf's heart as he struggled to get away. Trying to use an invisibility spell again, he realized that his magicka reserves had run dry.

_Thud, thud, thud..._

She was getting closer, he only had a few more seconds. Scratching at the ground, he couldn't pull himself up. The few seconds he had trickled away as the orc was now on top of him. Heart pounding despite the fact that it was soon to be stopped, the last thing the Altmer saw was the bloodied sand and the shadow of the orc swinging her heavy war hammer.

_Crunch._ Hammer met skull, and yet another bunch of blood, bone, and flesh was mixed in with the soil.

And there was a deafening noise as the crowd cheered madly. The Orc then turned, and limped her way back the way she came as the announcer's shouts overwhelmed the cheering. When the iron gate closed behind her, she saw a pack of starving wolves that had just been released, swarming toward the body. The cheers grew louder as flesh was torn from bone. It only took a few minutes for them to finish the corpse off. Then they were herded back into their pens as a cleaning crew dumped the remains in a cart, scavenging the semi-tattered raiment of the now-dead Altmer, along with his mithril helmet and elven dagger.

Another typical day at the Arena.

* * *


	2. Frizzy Hair

_Clank. Clank. Clank._

Did that damned orc ever stop _training_? It was hard enough to sleep with the smell of rotting flesh and spilled blood as it was, without the constant noise of a sword smacking against a metal target. Opening her eyes and sitting up, an Imperial girl scowled at the Grand Champion, who was too busy to see her dislike of him. The girl's rose blonde hair was an absolute mess, frizzed and looking more like a lion's mane than anything. Scowling, she rubbed the sides of her head, trying to get the ringing sound of metal against metal out of her mind.

A door was shut, causing yet another sound to break into her head. A migraine was _killing_ her, but, apparently, nobody cared. Not that she expected the residents of the Red Room to. If they did, she'd start pinching herself to try and wake up.

"Hey, healer. No time for napping." It was Owyn, and he sounded more annoyed than usual. Groaning, the girl ran her fingers through her frizzy hair, racking through her memories to try and remember if there was any reason for the grumpy old bastard of a Blademaster to wake her up.

"Uhm..." She mumbled, finding it very, very hard to think with that constant clanging and clanking. "...there was a match today?"

Her guess was rewarded with a scowl from the Redguard. "Yes, and the winner's got some wounds that need healing. Now get up and do your job."

The girl scowled back at him, standing up and letting out a loud yawn. "Alright, I'm up, I'm up..." Owyn looked satisfied with this, and walked over to the other side of the room, where somebody, likely a spectator looking to see what the Bloodworks looked like, had just entered.

Why anyone would want to see what was down in the Bloodworks was beyond her. There was really nothing to see. Just a bloody dungeon filled with weapons and warriors. Nothing else, really. Then again, there were those creepy fans that enjoyed even getting a glimpse of an Arena combatant. The very same fans that were stupid enough to sign up and join the ranks of their idols, only to get themselves killed.

A quiet groan roused her from her thoughts. The Orc who was to go in that day's match was limping heavily, slowly making her way toward the healer.

"Owyn told me to look for you." Pain was evident in the orc's tone, though she managed a weak smile. "Mul gra-Kurash." Holding out a very cut hand, this introduction caused the Imperial to stare. Introductions weren't common in the Bloodworks.

"My name isn't important right now. Healing your wounds is." The girl turned toward an old wooden cabinet that was so rotted that it could barely support anything. Unfortunately for her, it was the only thing Isabel, the one who pretty much ran the Arena, would let her use for her supplies. A clinking noise could be heard as she scanned the potions, reading the labels carefully.

_Weak healing potion, use on small cuts... _Grabbing this one, she placed it on the table behind her. She wasn't taking her time at all, instead reading with such speed that the Orc named Mul was dumbstruck. Mul couldn't read at all, let alone this quickly.

"Medium strength, good for larger cuts, stab wounds, and fractures..." The girl read the title aloud as she also placed this on the table, before turning back to face Mul.

"What does the strongest type of potion do?" Mul asked, amber eyes filled with curiosity. This took the healer aback a bit. Well, Mul wasn't exactly your typical Orc, at least, not when smashing your skull in.

"When your arm's cut off, it'll heal the wound instantaneously. I don't have that type, unfortunately." Biting her lip, Mul could see a bit of guilt in the healer's expression. "And... well, if it gets that bad, most people just want me to end it. Which is why I need these..." Gesturing to a bunch of green bottles, Mul knew enough to know that they were poisons. Then the Imperial girl shut the creaking cabinet door, uncorking a bottle almost immediately.

"Hold out your arms." The girl instructed, her voice taking on a professional tone. Mul did so, feeling a slight tingle when the Imperial gently poured the weak healing potion onto her smaller cuts. The injuries closed up with a pleasant sensation, and the healer gave the orc the rest of the bottle. "Drink that." She ordered, grabbing and uncorking the larger bottle of stronger healing potion.

Mul obeyed, bracing herself for the familiar horrible taste of the potion. This one tasted of a mushroom and a bitterness she couldn't place. At least it wasn't one of the venison and daedra heart potions. She'd rather have her head cut off than drink those kind of mixes.

Then there was slightly painful feeling in her stomach, and a frustrated little sigh from the healer. "Have to do it with magic..." The girl mumbled, hair somehow becoming even frizzier when she was annoyed. The orc braced herself again, knowing that healing with magic was often more painful than healing with potions.

A sharp pain, like tiny needles poking her skin, flew through the stab wound in her stomach as it healed. The healer had an apologetic look about her as she grabbed a wet cloth to wipe away any remaining blood.

There was a creaking noise as a cart came into the Red Room, carrying the familiar sight of corpses. Once, every so often, the cart would become full from the bodies of the dead who couldn't have a burial, and when that happened, the rotting heap of flesh was dumped into the large pit that was in the middle of the Bloodworks, surrounded by bars to prevent people from falling in. Thankfully, it was a long drop, so the smell wasn't so bad. Usually.

"Alright, everything feel okay?" The girl asked, tearing her eyes away from the cart. Mul nodded in reply. "Good." She smiled, as Mul stood up, shook the healer's hand, and walked back off toward the training room. As soon as the orc was out of sight, the smile seemed to slide right off of the girl's face as she flopped back down on her bedroll, falling back to sleep almost immediately, unaffected by the disgusting sounds of bodies sliding into a pit.

* * *

A little note here, you won't find out the main character's name until later. I've decided to try out a story the way it is in Oblivion, where your name is never addressed, only your title and gender. Anyways, enjoy! 


	3. The Book's Cover

**Sorry for the gap in an update! **

* * *

Mul stood behind the grate, both hands on her warhammer. The wind blew, causing the Orc's dark locks to fly absently around her face. She was staring straight ahead, towards a figure standing behind the opposite gate. 

It was a Bosmer girl, tiny in appearance, with brown hair cut short, making her look like a boy. Judging by her size, Mul could throw the girl a meter with ease. Yet the girl's expression was one of grim determination. A bow was in one hand, with an arrow nocked. Both were standing with complete confidence. The crowd was silent as the announcer's voice rang out across the Arena.

"Welcome, people of the Imperial City, to the Arena!"

Mul's grip tightened on her warhammer. The Bosmer didn't move. Both were breathing deeply, preparing for the pain to come. Adrenaline was flowing quickly through their bloodstreams. Both had their eyes fixed on each other.

"Today, we have the yellow team's Gladiator-"

Both breathed more heavily as the crowd cheered wildly for the orc.

"-and the blue team's Gladiator-"

Nobody cheered for the tiny Bosmer. But the elf didn't even hear, her whole senses focused on the world around her. It was a strategy unique to the Bosmer, giving her advantages even when up against impossible odds.

"-facing off in a battle to the death! Does the Bosmer have any hope against the Orc's strength?"

It started to rain again. After several weeks of almost nonstop rain, the terrain of the Arena was equal to sludge. And Mul was weighed down with all her heavy armor...

The crowd was cheering and screaming and waving their arms in appreciation. The muscles of the two tensed up, and their feet were ready to spring into action.

"Let's find out!"

The gates were lowered and the two sprang into action. The Bosmer let her arrow fly. Mul rolled out of the way, but found that she was sinking into the mud. She was ankle deep already, and the Bosmer had another arrow ready.

Pulling herself up and out of the mud, she ducked out of the way as the second arrow grazed her shoulder. The orc stampeded forward, ready to swing her giant warhammer...

The Bosmer let another arrow fly faster than the orc predicted. With a _twang _of the bowstring, the arrow flew deep in between the orc's neck and shoulder. Letting out a cry of pain, her swing was weak, but strong enough to knock the Bosmer sideways as it collided with her ribcage. Blood flew as the Bosmer looked down, seeing a rib sticking out of her side. Mul was bleeding badly. Despite this, the two kept on fighting as the crowd roared.

The Bosmer used three arrows instead of one this time. The crowd screamed in excitement as she pulled back the bowstring. All three flew into Mul's chest, and she faltered. Her opponent took advantage of this, dropping her bow and leaping forward with a dagger in her hand.

Mul wouldn't give up that easily. She used her fist to punch the Bosmer square in the face. Blood was now all over the two, along with a large amount of mud. With a broken nose, the Bosmer let out a yelp of pain as the orc started beating her with two large fists.

The wood elf kept on fighting, though. Stabbing the dagger anywhere she could reach, into the orc's arms, into the orc's shoulders. Mul was growing weaker as orc blood flowed over her skin, the Bosmer fighting like a tiger despite her numerous bruises and broken rib.

With a final roar, the Orc managed to grab the Bosmer and fling her across the ground. With a sickening _crack_ the elf fell into the mud. But still the little mer didn't give up. Reaching for her bow, which was only a foot away, she strung an arrow, mumbling something that sounded like "strike true" before letting the arrow fly. Mul was too weak to dodge, and the arrow lodged itself in her throat, pinning the sides of the Orc's esophagus together and slowly causing her to suffocate.

The crowd went crazy as the Bosmer crawled out of the mud, shakily standing up and limping towards the exit. She entered the Bloodworks before the announcer had time to finish shouting "We have a winner!".

And as the girl got to the Fountain of Renewal, she collapsed in an exhausted heap. The last thing she heard were shouts and footsteps as her world went black.

* * *


	4. Drunken Bosmer

**Another update gap. I fail. So hard. Eeeeee.**

* * *

The Bosmer wearily opened up her eyes. Where was she? What had happened? She couldn't remember her own name. Her vision was blurry, but she could just make out a figure in front of her... with strangely frizzy hair.

"Good morning, sunshine." The figure said, with an air of grumpiness. "You've been out for a couple of days. The potion was a little too strong, I'll admit, but you must have a pretty weak constitution... but never mind that. How do you feel?"

The elf struggled to sit up, but her limbs were too weak to support her. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her vision slowly cleared to reveal a woman in plain clothing in front of her, and a stone room. A gross stench wafted into her nostrils, and then the pain hit her.

If the Bosmer could scream, she would. It felt like a thousand needles and knives pricked and stabbed into her very soul, wringing pain throughout her. All the poor girl could do was lay there and take the pain, her only way of letting it out by having tears stream down her face. The woman in front of her frowned, and picked up what faintly looked like a bottle of mead.

"Drink. It'll numb the pain, and get you your voice back."

The bottle was offered to the Bosmer, and after a large struggle, she gripped the bottle and drank thirstily, the bittersweet liquid burning in her throat and slowly numbing her senses. When she finished the first bottle the woman offered her another, and the girl gulped it down like she hadn't drank in days. The elf felt dizzy now, but the pain had subsided, and strength returned to her limbs.

"What... happened?" She croaked out. The woman seemed a little relieved at the Bosmer's slight recovery, and relaxed. The Bosmer didn't notice how tense the woman was before she managed to speak.

"A match in the Arena, remember? You won. Amazing match, too, nobody thought you could win." The congratulatory words sounded as bitter as the mead.

She could barely remember... being hit with a war hammer, flying across the arena, managing to plant an arrow in the Orc's throat... then limping back to the Basin of Renewal and collapsing before she could heal herself.

"You were banged up pretty bad. A few broken bones, and a few cuts, but nothing extremely serious. No amputations needed. Which is why you felt a lot of pain. It's going to take a while for you to heal up properly, but the priests at the Temple should work wonders on you. I'm not a great healer, you see, and... well, they can do a better job." The woman explained, as the Bosmer groaned.

"Nnyeah?" Was all the elf could reply, looking dazed and confused. The woman smirked.

"It numbs the pain, but it also messes up your thinking. Be prepared for a hangover, Bosmer." Then she looked up abruptly, as someone called out for the local healer to get her ass over somewhere. The woman scowled at that. "I'm sorry, but I've got to go. The Temple healers should be here to help you out soon, though." And with that, the woman was away again. The elf felt her vision double without anything to focus out, and blacked out again, to awaken within the Temple of the One.

* * *

"Yes, Owyn?" The healer asked, frowning as she walked into the small room the Blademaster and Battle Matron shared. The Redguard she was walking towards returned her frown with a scowl.

"How's the Bosmer doing?"

"Badly. I could numb everything and heal a few cuts and minor breaks, but I'm not skilled enough to handle the more complicated wounds. She'll have to go with the Temple healers for now."

Owyn's scowl deepened. "So how long do you think she'll be out?"

"A few months. Maybe a year. It depends." She shrugged.

"_Great. Just perfect._" The Blademaster grumbled. "We're short enough on able combatants as it is. The Yellow Team's completely outnumbering the Blue Team. And we can't run on troll versus ogre matches forever, you know."

The healer sighed in frustration. "As I've said before, it's not my fault they get nearly beaten to death and left out of action for months. What do you expect me to do about it?"

Owyn's scowl was replaced by a mischievous grin. The healer felt her stomach squirm in dread. That was Owyn's 'I've got an idea that might cause you to die of embarrassment or from being bludgeoned with blunt instruments' look.

"I know exactly what you can do about it. We don't have any more matches for the next few days, holiday, you know, so you're going on a trip." Owyn said with a smug smile.

"I'm guessing this isn't a nice long holiday to the warm beaches of Anvil, is it?" She said uneasily.

Owyn shook his head. "Nope. You're going to Leyawiin. Blackwood Company's set up there. Perfect spot to recruit some fighters."

"_What?_" She said in disbelief, frizzy hair standing up on end even more than usual. "They're... they're brutes! They have no morals! They... they..."

"Are just what we need." The Blademaster replied with a smile. "Now you'd better pack up. Oh, and we aren't supplying you with a horse. Too expensive. You're going to have to find one on your own."

The healer made a strangled little noise like she was trying to object, but shut her mouth when she saw Owyn raise an eyebrow. "Fine. But don't... don't blame me if you're missing a healer when this is all done!" And with that, she turned and stormed out of the room as dramatically and angrily as she possibly could, to the snickers of Ysabel and Owyn. All the heads in the Training Room turned when they saw the normally reclusive healer storming out of the building with nothing but her bag shoved with a few potions and ingredients. Then they all shrugged and returned to shooting arrows into targets, slashing at dummies, and hitting punching bags until the filling started to leak. The normal sounds of the Arena that made sleep virtually impossible, and frizzy hair a common occurrence.

* * *


End file.
